The Five Stages of Loss and Grief
by Doctor Fourteen
Summary: A story of how Lance Corporal Levi deals with the loss of his comrades, in the five stages of denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance. Will be 5 chapters long. Spoilers for episodes 21 and 22.
1. Denial

I do not in any shape or form own the Shingeki no Kyojin franchise. All copyright remains with the rightful owners. This story is purely fictional.

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From the outset, newly trained soldiers were well aware that life within the Survey Corps would be dangerous, with a low chance of survival. These facts alone steered many to take the alternative path of joining the Garrison, a route which held far less danger. And yet, there were a set of individuals who did not travel the alternative path, instead joining the Survey Corps.

From here on, the soldiers were revered by the casual population of within the walls which protected them from the Titans who threatened to destroy their very existence. However, despite the safety that the walls gave to the civilians, there were still those who dared travel beyond the walls, to battle with the Titans. Few would return, with each expedition beyond human territory, the numbers of the legion would lessen and lessen.

Within only years of their introduction to the legion, near all were dead and all that would remain were the prized and skilled soldiers, who were an unfortunate minority.

In spite of this, it did not mean that soldiers did not grow a sense of camaraderie and companionship, even though their time together would always be so limited.

Lance Corporal Levi now sat alone in the mess hall. The wooden chair that he sat on would occasionally creak in protest as he altered his position, a sign of the true age that the furniture possessed. It would scratch against the cobbled paving that created the flooring of the dated building with regularity. The room was a numbing cold, beyond that which would make you want to shiver. Instead it made you want to curl up into a cosy bed and sleep for an eternity. However, there was no draught. The air was still, silent. It almost resembled the fallen comrades who had only recently rested here: Dead.

His only source of warmth was the steaming cup of black coffee which sat between pale palms that still hosted a slight tremor of shock. Cloak and jacket lay to the side, on a nearing chair. The only feature to identify him as a member of the legion was the renowned title of Lance Corporal of the Special Operations squad.

Occasionally a younger member of the squad would rush through the doors in search of food, or to sit amongst friends from companionship. Their initial reaction would include questioning him if he was feeling well, the ghostlike appearance of him would suggest otherwise, nevertheless through glassy eyes and dry lips, he would deny it, insisting that he felt fine. To add to his performance, he would scowl and along a poor excuse of an insult to drawl from himself. The least he needed to was add to the grief of younger members. They would quickly leave.

The looks on their faces was a sight that he'd grown accustomed to, though he hated it with the same burning passion as the first time he'd seen it: The look of a grieving soldier. Blank faces, hollow eyes, lips parted to say words that just wouldn't come out. Their eyes held pain beyond compare, loneliness... Hope.

The clock ticked and time faded to nothingness. The sky descended to darkness from light, not even stars lit up the hall. Soon the candles would burn out and he would be plunged into complete darkness. One by one, the candles died, fading slowly. He imagined each candle as a dying comrade, their life burning away to nothingness.

Levi stared at the flickering light with vague interest, his mind swimming with thoughts. He'd not heard the sounds of approaching footsteps, nor had he sensed the person behind him. Arms suddenly flung around him from behind, prying the now-cold cup of coffee from his fingers, before being replaced with a soothingly warm and fresh cup, from somewhere to his left.

From behind him appeared Zoe, sitting on the chair to his right. Erwin placed himself in the chair to his left. Hanji rested her elbows on the table, clasping her fingers together, leaning her face on them. "Levi," she spoke softly, her words only hoping to gain an acknowledgement from him. He looked up, eyes meeting hers. She looked deep into his, her eyes were synonymous to Petra's look of concern when he'd not slept for extended periods of time.

"Levi," Erwin attempted, hoping for some response. Hanji tilted her head slightly, her hair fell to the side, ponytail cascading in the opposite direction, the light of the few candles remaining shone in her spectacles as she moved. He clenched his hands around the cup, fingers tightly laced together. Erwin observed his hands, he thought for a moment that Levi may even break the cup under his vice-like grip. "Clean freak," Hanji tried once again, forcing her features to curve into a force smile, though it soon dropped and she sighed. There was nothing else that it could have been. She knew full well how he felt. There was no use in asking him, she knew from experience that it could only make it worse if she did.

Erwin placed a hand on his subordinate's shoulder as Zoe grasped Erwin's free hand from across the table. With her opposing Hanji, she curled her hand around his cold and shaking fingers, holding them gently. Her forefinger traced along the scars, bruises and cuts that marred his otherwise marble hands, her nail ran across each little line and dent soothingly. In comparison, her hands were far softer and more gentle. Despite her line of work, her hands had remained relatively delicate.

His lips pulled apart with a soft popping sound as he readied his dry mouth to speak. "I'm fine," he managed, voice quiet yet still deep and commanding, "they'll return soon. I have work for them to do." He explained, Hanji's and Erwin's eyes widened slightly as the final candle died, plunging them into deep darkness; Levi was in denial.


	2. Anger

Un-Beta'd, unless someone would like to be a beta-tester for this? ;w; So I apologise for any mistakes, just let me know and I'll fix them. Again, all credit is to their rightful owners.

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The Corporal lay in the poor excuse of a bed, an arm draped across his eyes shielding them from the rays of yellow sunlight that broke through the navy sky. It began with hues of reds, pinks, oranges, soon fading through to bright yellow, all which splayed across his face through the window panes of the elderly residence. He lay sprawled across his bed, sheet a disrupted and scrunched up from his nightly ministrations of tossing and turning.

Through scrunched eyes, light block by the limb resting across his face, he could tell it was morning by the songs of the few birds that remained in this apocalyptic world and the warm sensation the sunlight left upon his face. Grudgingly he moved the forearm, realising that yet again it would be a further night with little sleep. He exhaled deeply as he moved himself to an upright position, running his hand across his forehead and through the untamed locks of hair.

He couldn't deny it any longer, it was unreasonable. Stupid. His comrades, those who looked up to and trusted him, were dead. They'd not passed away in the comfort of their own beds, there were no family members surrounding them, comforting them... He hadn't even been there to hold their hands and comfort them through the pain and fear of dying. He felt ashamed. Above all, he felt angry.

He felt anger towards Eren: The boy with such ability, who'd just stood by and watched as his friends had been killed. Eren could have fought off the Titan, if himself hadn't been around. They'd spared Eren, so that he would be of use. That he'd protect and defend the remainder of humanity, yet the boy had just sat by and witnessed their deaths. How could he ever forgive anyone, who had simply stared as _**his **_friends had died?

And Erwin. Why hadn't Erwin done more to protect his own men. Why hadn't he ordered them another course? Why hadn't he let him remain with his force, they were perfectly capable and clearly would have had the opportunity to strike the Female Type, had he have been there. If his gas had been restocked, he would have been able to fight longer... Move faster... Save them.

He moved a hand to the linen, curling his fingers deeply into it, clenching them into fists. As his thoughts deepened, his fingers only gripped the sheets greater. He was snapped out of his thoughts by the tearing sound of what had been his bedsheets. He stood, walking across the room. His bare feet rested against the cool flooring. He reached the wall at the opposite side, leaning his forehead against it, he grimaced.

Petra. How could she now have been more careful? Why had he not listened to a thing he'd taught her... She should have protected herself. _She was so young. _Her father, what could he possibly say to her? Why was she so ignorant to everything he'd ever said about putting herself above being a hero... Did she truly think that it'd meant nothing? A clenched fist, raised itself, crashing against the wall, though it made no affect to the sturdy building, instead blood simply rushed to the hand, accompanied by a numbing pain. The pain was a grim reminder that he was alive.

Why had Auruo, Gunther or Erd been of no service to her. They were the best that the legion had to offer in his opinion and yet all three had failed. He couldn't possibly understand why they had all been so ignorant as to not retreat, at the first sightings. Did they truly not know him well enough to be aware that the person that they were tailing was not himself and in fact their murderer? Did his own men, who on a daily basis he'd sat around a table and drunk coffee with, could they really not recognise him? Were they so stupid, so blind, so moronic, so foolish... "_Foolish._" He muttered through his clenched teeth, his words slipping out like venom. He rubbed the palm of his hand across his face, contorting his skin deeply, trying to relieve some of the stress that made his entire body feel as though it were burning.

And that damned brat's sister, Mikasa... Ranked top of her class, sworn to protect Eren. Where the hell had she been? As soon as Eren was not in danger, it was as if she didn't care. No one could ever live up to that naïve kid, not in her eyes. He had been stupid to trust her. She should never have joined the army. She was a waste of space if all that she cared about was protecting her precious little Eren and no one else. Why hadn't she gone after the Titan herself? With the two of them, they could have stopped her. And yet she was too wrapped up in her own thoughts to consider all possible actions... Just like he had been.

Above all, Levi felt anger towards himself, he should have been there. Had his agility and stealth been better, he would have been able to rush to them, perhaps to save them. At least to have been with them as they breathed their last few breaths. And if he'd have calculated correctly in the first place, he would have tailed the person who was the shifter behind the Female Type, then he would have been able to stop them, before their lives had been cut short. Because of him, his poor judgement, his inability, they were leaving behind families. They were strong recruits, who could have greatly benefited humanity.

He'd done _humanity _such a disservice by being so lacking. He couldn't even bring himself to leave the confines of his room, too humiliated. The remaining soldiers' pitiful glances, or their mourning friends. How could he ever look them in the eyes after what he'd done?

He let his body sink to the ground, into a kneeling position, palms rested against the ice-cold stones of the floor. He forced his head hard against the wall. _It was all his fault. _


End file.
